Debt Collection
by Hawkeye4077
Summary: Sequel to 'Gunning for Gibbs'. Read that first if you haven't already! Soon after Gibbs and DiNozzo's adventure in the Arizona Desert, Tony is struggling to find a way to pay his cousin Crispian. AU of course. Gibbs/Tony father/son.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone, and I hope you all had fun. But anyway, here ya go. The 'long'-awaited sequel to _Gunning for Gibbs_**. **Hope you** **like it. Probably won't make much sense unless you've read the other story, though. **

* * *

After waking up to his father's concerned face, Gibbs had spent a further three horrific, tortuous days in hospital being endlessly poked and prodded, fussed over and tested. Then, much to the Marine's relief, he had been released with a pair of crutches and strict instructions to rest as much as possible as well as to take his painkillers and antibiotics regularly, instructions which, surprisingly, Gibbs decided to follow. After all, Director Vance was already insisting that Gibbs take a whole month off if his knee was not healed sufficiently within two weeks – a prospect Gibbs relished even less than spending two weeks using crutches at home, rather than at work.

Unfortunately, four days after his release from the Arizona hospital, Gibbs had become bored out of his mind. For the first couple of days, his father had stayed with him, trying futilely to keep him fed and watered healthily, make him take his medications and take it easy. But then, after two loud and heated arguments over Gibbs' reluctance to rest, Jackson had left – actually, the younger Gibbs had barked an order at him as if speaking to a young Marine.

The first thing Gibbs did, now with the freedom of his own house, was to slowly make his way to the basement door – an exhausting task in itself, which left him sweating profusely and gasping through the pain in his leg. If he was going to be off work for two weeks, he needed something to keep his hands and mind busy. However, after the first two entirely unsuccessful attempts at descending the stairs to his basement, Gibbs had reluctantly concluded that it would be impossible for him to work on his boat and still be able to climb the stairs again afterwards. Instead, he limped cautiously back into the sitting room and picked up the phone, dialling reluctantly for a taxi. He was not stubborn or stupid enough to drive in his present condition.

The cab driver, upon first glance of his passenger, had asked Gibbs if he wanted to go to a hospital. Typically, Gibbs had stared at him and then given him a destination other than the nearest hospital – the Navy Yard.

Now, hobbling gingerly into the bullpen on his crutches, ignoring McGee's incredulous stare, Ziva's silent concern and DiNozzo's immediate and obvious phone call, Gibbs wondered if his driver had been right in assuming he needed a hospital. He felt awful, his leg hurt like hell and his shoulder was not much better. Slumping into the chair behind his desk, the short journey from the front entrance having exhausted him thoroughly, Gibbs watched wearily as Tony ended his conversation and stood up. "McGee, Ziva, go see if Abby's got anything more on the ID of the men," Tony instructed, giving his colleagues a pointed look. He waited until McGee and Ziva had reached the other elevator before moving towards Gibbs' desk. "Shouldn't you still be at home, boss?" Tony asked softly, studying his boss openly.

Tony was temporarily in charge of the team while Gibbs 'recovered', reaffirming Gibbs' adamant insistence that DiNozzo was a valued and trusted member of his team. Surprisingly, although McGee had been a little frustrated that he had been overlooked when Vance allowed Tony to return to work while still at less than a hundred percent health, the Mossad Officer and Agent McGee had, more or less, followed Tony as they would Gibbs. Ducky, however, had not been so easily persuaded – he still did not believe that Tony was fit enough to be at work.

Thinking about how easily Tony had managed to clear the bullpen for the two of them to speak, Gibbs felt a swell of pride for his senior agent and how easily the man could read him. "Not going to sit on my ass doing nothing for God knows how long while my damn leg heals! Might as well make myself useful while it does," Gibbs explained, surreptitiously massaging around his injured knee with one hand. Taking a step closer, Tony noticed the thin sheen of sweat on Gibbs' forehead and the pinched skin around the older man's eyes, and was instantly grateful he had called Ducky. "Yeah? Vance know you're here, boss?" Gibbs chuckled and then closed his eyes, leaning his head back to rest against the chair.

"Nah, guess Duck'll tell him as soon as he's finished reprimanding me," he whispered hoarsely, knowing exactly who DiNozzo had called despite not having been able to hear the conversation over the rushing in his ears and the pounding of his head. Tony wanted to smile at Gibbs' comment, but the way Gibbs' face paled slightly when he moved forced Tony's expression into a concerned frown.

_I wish Ducky would hurry up!_

_

* * *

_

As if reading Tony's mind, the elevator pinged and the Scotsman stepped out, bustling over to the MCRT's area. He could see Tony standing at Gibbs' desk and looking at something on it intensely, but the dividers obstructed his view of whatever it was. "Well, Anthony, what did you need to show me?" he asked, striding past Ziva's desk, and came to an abrupt stop. "Good lord, Jethro, what are you doing here?" Pushing past DiNozzo, Ducky stood at Gibbs' side and placed a hand gently on the man's arm. Cracking one eye open, Gibbs smiled crookedly up at his friend.

"Hey, Duck," he murmured, still shattered from the walk from the cab despite it being ten minutes since he arrived. Before he knew it, Gibbs' eyes had closed again.

_I shouldn't be this tired. Jeez, I'm getting old!_

Ducky placed the back of his hand against Gibbs' forehead and cursed inwardly at the fever he discovered. "Jethro, have you been taking your antibiotics?" he asked, fully expecting the negative response he received. "They make me drowsy, Duck," answered Gibbs with a slight shake of his head, his eyes still shut. Tony rolled his eyes and Ducky barely managed to hold back a sigh of exasperation. "Is that so bad, Jethro? After all, it is rest that your body needs to heal. What about painkillers? Have you brought them with you, or are they sitting unopened on your kitchen counter?" Gibbs grimaced under Ducky's admonishment and Tony felt sorry, momentarily, for calling in Ducky, despite the knowledge that he could not browbeat Gibbs into returning home without the help of the medical examiner or Abby. Ducky continued to glare at Gibbs.

A wave of pain tore through Gibbs' knee as he tried to sit up straighter and he could not suppress a moan. "You're not fit to be at work, Jethro," Ducky said simply, placing a firm hand on Gibbs' uninjured arm and trying to keep the annoyance from his voice, before turning to Tony and receiving a silent nod. "Young Anthony, here, will be taking you home to see that you rest." Gibbs opened his mouth to argue but Ducky beat him to the punch. "Do I need to ask Abigail to come up, or will you let her work safe in the knowledge that you are at home, resting?" Weakly, Gibbs raised an eyebrow – answer enough for his friend – and then growled another protest (just to make it look like he was not entirely in agreement). He made to stand up but yet another spike of pain had him hunched over and gasping for breath.

_Maybe taking it easy for a few days would be a good idea..._

Patiently, Ducky and DiNozzo waited until Gibbs opened his eyes again and then they helped him up. Tony slung Gibbs' uninjured arm across his shoulders, much like he had in the desert, and the two of them slowly started to shuffle to the elevator.

Ducky hung back, making sure Gibbs and DiNozzo had reached the elevator before he trotted up the stairs and headed to Director Vance's office. Two weeks was not going to be long enough. And, although he insisted he was fine, Tony needed to rest as well.

* * *

Tony paused at the threshold of Gibbs' bedroom and watched as his boss struggled to get comfortable while also avoiding causing further pain. Fortunately, Gibbs had been too worn out when they managed to get him from Tony's car upstairs and into bed to even contemplate refusing his medication, and he had taken them willingly. "Do you want anything else, boss?" Tony asked softly, stilling the man in the bed. Gibbs grunted in response – a pained, indecisive grunt that had Tony instantly returning to the man's side.

Gibbs eyelids were already half closed and Tony could see him fighting sleep with every breath he drew, but it was no use. Eventually, the painkillers and antibiotics would overpower his strength, it was just a question of whether Gibbs went to sleep peacefully or was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the blackness. Gently, Tony placed one hand on Gibbs' forehead, the other squeezing Gibbs' arm soothingly. "You trust me, boss?" Tony asked softly. Gibbs rolled his eyes at the younger man but did not say anything. His expression was enough for DiNozzo to understand.

_You had to ask? Of course I trust you, Tony._

"Go to sleep, boss. I've got your six," Tony whispered, smiling, and that seemed to be all it took to make Gibbs relax. His eyes closed fully and his face relaxed, indicating that he was truly asleep.

* * *

Snarling as if he were deranged, Tony slammed his phone shut and thumped it down onto the kitchen counter. "Twenty-four _million _pounds! Crispian inherits twenty-four _million_ pounds, and he's worried about ten _thousand_ dollars!" he growled. He had just got off the phone with his lawyer, trying to find out if the I.O.U. still stood after all these years – if it had ever been official. Unfortunately, there was nothing illegitimate about it.

Angrily, Tony slapped his hands down on the flat surface, wincing as it stung his palms, and then reached into a cupboard, pulling out a glass and filling it with cool water from the tap. Leaning over the sink and pressing his forehead against the cool window pane, Tony sipped from the glass, silently working out how long it would take him to pay the money back. Suddenly, he remembered where he was, who he was supposed to be taking care of and what he was meant to be doing.

After tipping the rest of the water down the sink, Tony grabbed the tray which had a bowl of cereal on it, a large mug of steaming coffee and a glass of orange juice, as well as a box of antibiotics. Sweeping the room to look for anything he might have forgotten, Tony walked into the hall and then up the stairs to Gibbs' room.

Tony had expected it to be awkward looking after his boss and being forced to have pleasant conversation with the man who had betrayed his trust so recently, but, instead, it was oddly reassuring.

_Surely if Gibbs didn't trust me then he would have refused my help... He certainly wouldn't have let me see him when he was weak and sick._

Also, Tony realised, if the thought of babysitting Gibbs had been a problem, he would never have led Ducky to assume that he was willing to do so.

Feeling Gibbs' intense blue eyes on him as he walked carefully around the bed, Tony was broken from his musings, and placed the laden tray on the bedside table. Once it was balancing precariously on the wooden surface, Tony tried to plaster a grin on his face to mask his anger and, he admitted to himself, fear over not being able to pay the money back. The look Gibbs sent his way was not of its usual strength, but still Tony felt as if the man he had worked with for eight years could see straight through his façade. Fidgeting uncomfortably with his shirt cuffs, Tony shuffled from one foot to the other as he stood at Gibbs' side. "You... um... You want to sit up, boss?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral – devoid of anything that could be misconstrued as pity by the Marine.

Ignoring his agent for a moment, Gibbs rolled gingerly onto his side and propped himself up onto his uninjured left elbow. Scrunching his eyes shut, Gibbs had to suppress a moan as he put too much pressure on his injured knee, and immediately felt a pair of strong hands pull him up until his back was resting against the headboard. Gradually the pain subsided and Gibbs was able to open his eyes once again without baring all the emotions that threatened to sweep over his mental barriers as he fought the pain.

A pair of dark eyes stared at him in concern and Gibbs smiled wanly back. He made a point to thank the younger man – much to Tony's astonishment – and then Gibbs growled half-heartedly, "I'm fine, DiNozzo," before reaching over to the tray Tony had set down and picking up the mug of coffee. Still Tony watched him in concern, but Gibbs could tell there was something else bothering his agent. "What's on your mind, Tony?" Gibbs took a sip of the scalding hot coffee and watched his agent over the rim.

Slowly, deep in thought, Tony pulled the only chair in the room – a wide, wooden one with faded green cushions – closer to the bed and slumped down into it, wondering how much to burden Gibbs with, or whether to just keep his problems – his weaknesses – to himself. "My lawyers say the I.O.U. I signed is legit..." Tony sighed deeply, staring out of the window and watching the birds swoop from tree to tree. For a split second, his eyes flicked back to Gibbs' face, but then they darted away again. "Where am I going to get ten thousand dollars plus compounded interest over the last twenty years, boss?" Punctuating his question, Tony slammed a clenched fist down onto the velvety cushion of the armrest. "It's not like I have that kind of money to spare..." Again Tony punched the chair he was sitting in.

"Hey..." Gibbs was frowning at his agent now, trying to break through to the younger man before he got even more upset, but Tony continued, listing everything he would have to give up.

"Tony," Gibbs called softly, resisting the urge to slap the younger man on the back of the head, "You don't need to do all that."

Tony's head spun round and he frowned in confusion at the senior agent. "What do you mean, boss? Where else am I going to get the money from?" Gibbs sighed and rested the mug of coffee on his leg, the heat seeping through the sheets. "I owe you my life, DiNozzo... I'm pretty sure that deserves some kind of repayment," he explained with a small smirk. DiNozzo simply stared at him as if a second head had just sprouted from his neck, trying to process what Gibbs had just said. Slowly, a broad grin spread across his features. "I guess, but, I mean, you don't have to. I'm sure I can find the money someplace – get another job or," Tony paused to visibly gulp, to which Gibbs gave an amused chuckle, "sell my car..."

For a moment, Gibbs smiled reassuringly at his agent, then that was replaced with a thoughtful frown combined with an embarrassed grimace, taking DiNozzo completely by surprise. "You've already... I..." Shifting into a more comfortable position, Gibbs growled in frustration – somehow, however, Tony knew it was not directed at him. "I'll make you a deal, Tony. I don't think Ducky's going to be letting either of us back to work until he's satisfied with our matching dodgy knees. So... you promise to take it easy until your leg's healed—" There was a snort of amusement from Tony – it was funny that Gibbs could order his agents to rest but would not do so himself – but Gibbs continued, "—hell, you can even stay here! And I'll help you pay back the money you owe. How's that?"

Once more, there was a grin on Tony's face – Gibbs had, in his strange, roundabout way, just invited DiNozzo to stay at his house. There was no way he could refuse that! Tony nodded quickly and then, noticing Gibbs' eyelids droop suddenly, reached forward to catch the mug of coffee before it spilt. With his eyes closed, it looked as though Gibbs was asleep but Tony knew better. "You get some more rest, boss, and I'll call the director." Tony stood up and walked slowly, allowing his limp to show for the first time since he had 'forgotten' to take his crutches to work one day, to the door. A mutter from the bed stopped him in his tracks. "Thanks, son... But if you touch my boat, Tony, I'll have you pulling desk duty for the next four months!"

Tony smirked back at the figure in the bed and then continued out of the room. One thought alone was running through his mind.

_He called me 'son'!_

* * *

**A/N: Liked it? Leave a review.**

**Hated it? Leave a review anyway and tell me what was so awful about it! :]**

**Honestly, I don't think this was one of my best pieces, but I'm tired and the story kept changing in my head so many times that I forgot half the stuff I had to start with!  
**

**Once again, I have to thank inkpen1 for giving me such a great idea, but also thanks to all the reviewers from the prequel to this, and any subsequent reviewers.**

**Ooooh ooooh ooooh and, and, and there's _lots _of snow in Scotland now! :D Supposed to be going skiing this morning but the ski centres are stormbound and the roads shut! Got almost a foot of snow now and it's been here since Saturday the 19th of December! :) 'Tis a good year so far xD  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again! Sorry for the delay but I wasn't expecting as many people to want a second chapter - I had seriously decided that this was going to be a oneshot but then you all wanted more and here you go! Then again, nor was I expecting to become completely obsessed with Doctor Who after watching this year's Christmas Specials especially as they were the only two episodes with David Tennant I'd seen! Anyway... that's enough drooling, now on with the second (and final) chapter! And there's a couple of notes at the end of this for those interested, too.  
**

* * *

Tony pulled up in the street, parking as close to the kerb as he could and plunging the immediate area of the street into darkness as he switched off his headlights, and then stepped out, grabbing a plastic bag full of groceries from the passenger seat. He strode through the white gate in the picket fence, all traces of his knee injury from the desert disappeared. Briefly, as he reached the front door, he thought about fishing out his keys again but then he tried the handle and found the door was not even locked. Stepping over the threshold and making sure to wipe his feet on the mat as he came in, Tony swivelled, slowly closed the front door and then locked it. "Hey, boss!" he called, knowing full well Gibbs would be down in his basement. DiNozzo, carelessly dumping the plastic bag on the nearest kitchen counter he could find as he walked through the house, winced at the chink of glass bottles, silently praying he had not just smashed Gibbs' new, precious bottle of Bourbon.

Taking off his thick, warm, black jacket and then throwing it over the back of a dining chair, Tony wandered over to the basement door, which was slightly ajar and a crack of light shone through it. Silently, the door creaked open – obviously Gibbs had been keeping everything in perfect working order – and Tony stepped in, flicking the light switch as he crept down the stairs.

_Am I seriously thinking I can sneak up on Gibbs?_

He thought that Gibbs would hear him when he stepped into the first step, but there was no response from the Marine, wherever he was. At the second from bottom step, when Gibbs still had not appeared to growl and slap the back of DiNozzo's head for disturbing him, Tony stood perfectly still and listened. He gave a soft chuckle at what he heard then walked to the bow of the upside-down boat, ducking under the planks that Gibbs had already glued to the frame. Tony could not help the smile that spread across his face but he did manage to hold back a laugh. There, lying on his back under his boat, a small volume of Bourbon in a jar in his right hand threatening to spill all over the NCIS agent if Gibbs' grip relaxed any further, was Gibbs. As Tony leant further under the boat to grab Gibbs' drink before he dropped it, there was a sleepy growl. "Don't even think about it, DiNozzo."

Gibbs sat up quickly – Tony was worried he might hit his head on the cross-beams but Gibbs avoided them easily – and pushed out from under the boat, making Tony back up until his head touched the wooden staircase. Gingerly, Gibbs limped over to the work bench and placed the jar on it – he knew that, with the painkillers he was on, drinking alcohol was not a good idea, but when had that stopped him before. Even so, Gibbs had decided, for once, that his body deserved some sort of respite from the rigorous, repeated abuse he put it through: he had poured a half-measure of neat Bourbon, and barely touched it.

Tony followed Gibbs to the bench, wistfully running his hands over the untreated wood planking of the boat, and came to stand behind him. "Get much work done today?" he asked, leaning back to rest against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Gibbs grunted and gave an indiscernible shrug. "How was work, Tony?" Gibbs enquired, subtly moving the topic of conversation away from himself. Haphazardly, Gibbs tossed a sanding block in Tony's direction with his left hand and then handed the junior agent a sheet of fine sandpaper. Gibbs had finished planking the port side of the frame a few days ago, with Tony's help, and now was just waiting for the epoxy resin to set fully before he put a sheathing over it – a layer of epoxy resin impregnated fibreglass – which would give the wood a hard protective cover and also allow the natural wood to show through.

Tony chuckled at Gibbs' attempt at changing the subject. "Not got a case at the moment, boss. Just working on cold cases. McGee was having a field day when he found a link between ten million dollars that had been stolen from a bank and a Marine corporal. Until he found out the corporal had been in Iraq at the time." Tony twisted to face the boat and began sanding gently with the grain of the wood, two weeks experience of woodworking with Gibbs telling him what to do. "Itching to go back, huh boss?" Tony added, turning his head to find Gibbs thinking of ways to solve the cold case. Gibbs pushed away from the bench and hobbled to the starboard side of the upturned hull. Although he was supposed to be concentrating on sanding the planks, Tony could not help sneaking a glance at Gibbs, noticing the way his shoulders had tensed and, peering over the keel, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the frame to stay upright. "Yeah..." Gibbs sighed, with a note of resignation, "But I won't be back for a while yet." Tony nodded his agreement at Gibbs' ambiguous acceptance that his injuries would still prevent him from doing his job. Subconsciously, Tony glanced at his watch, eyes widening when he saw it was almost 2100.

He watched Gibbs for a moment as the man worked – one hand still gripping the frame tightly – and then announced, hoping that Gibbs would accept his proposal, "I'm going to go watch a film, boss, if that's all right?" Gibbs did not stop working but Tony could see his eyebrows raised. "You're welcome to join me, if you want." Gibbs sighed deeply, looking up at his senior field agent and knowing that Tony was only trying to get him to rest. "I'm good, DiNozzo," he answered softly before going back to working on his boat. Tony nodded again, secretly disappointed that Gibbs had not decided to join him, and then bounded off, up the stairs and into the sitting room. Gibbs could hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden floors and paused to listen, reminiscing as the sound of another person in his house reminded him of Kelly and Shannon. Then, walling off those painful memories, Gibbs returned to work with a shake of his head to clear his thoughts.

* * *

Slumped comfortable into Gibbs' well-worn couch, Tony was just watching the final scene in The Searchers – for about the tenth time in his life – when he heard a crash followed by several loud, unrepeatable curses in Gibbs' kitchen. Getting swiftly to his feet from the couch, Tony rushed into the other room. "Boss?" he called worriedly. Gibbs could usually go all day without complaining about being tired, but Tony had come to recognise – in the two weeks that he had been staying there – the signs of Gibbs' exhaustion. Tony had seen the beginnings of today's overtiredness when he was in Gibbs' basement, but Gibbs had refused a chance to rest.

He always had to push himself, further and further until his body simply refused to push with him. Often, Tony had had to resort to practically dragging Gibbs up the stairs to his room when his knee had given out after one too many Bourbons and far too much time slaving away in his basement over the cabinets they were building – well, Gibbs was building them as much as his knee would allow, Tony varnished and sanded a lot, and sawed on the days when Gibbs' knee was too stiff to hold his weight for long – and then selling to make money.

DiNozzo passed under the arch in the wall – which made the hall, sitting room, kitchen and dining room into one, big, open-plan room – and stared at the man leaning heavily against the sink. "Boss?" he called again, slightly less concerned now that he could see Gibbs standing upright. Gingerly, Gibbs turned, a sheepish half-smile on his face. Tony frowned in confusion at his boss' expression and then looked him up and down. Gibbs was standing – barely – in front of the sink, his right leg bearing most of his weight. His face was slightly paler than usual at this time of night, the skin at the corners of his eyes pinched, and, as Tony's studious gaze travelled to Gibbs' hands, he saw why.

Gibbs was gripping the counter top with all his strength – his knuckles startlingly white. His shoulder was obviously not giving him much trouble anymore and the laceration had healed to form yet another scar to add to the list. "I uh... I dropped the glass, DiNozzo. In the sink. Nothing to worry about," Gibbs admitted, moving to grab the hand towel swinging from the fridge door. However, Gibbs had only taken one step before he felt the niggling exhaustion wash over him completely and his knee twinged painfully, making him stagger to the right to remove the pressure.

In two long strides, Tony was at his side, holding him up whilst manoeuvring him to a dining room chair. When Gibbs was sitting down, Tony gently took Gibbs' hands, despite his weak attempts to pull them away from his senior field agent, and turned them over, surveying them for injury. Fortunately, it seemed the only thing that had been damaged – aside from the glass – was Gibbs' ego, which was a result of Gibbs' exhaustion and, admittedly, own stupidity, stubbornness and pride.

"Had a bit too much Bourbon tonight, boss?" Tony asked, grinning from ear to ear as he drew conversation away from the tiredness that was plainly evident on the senior agent's face. Gibbs gave him an almost stern glare, indicating that he was gradually recovering his strength sitting in the chair, and then his expression changed so quick that Tony had barely time to register it before Gibbs spoke. "How much money do you that cousin of yours now, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, making sure that his irritation at himself did not slip into his tone of voice. Even though he knew it was merely playful banter, Tony paled visibly and answered seriously, "About thirty-nine thousand dollars, boss. I've paid off a little more than a tenth, which is pretty good for two weeks." Gibbs winced – some of the money had been earned from Tony's job at NCIS, some of it had come from Gibbs and DiNozzo building and selling personalised wooden cabinets – the debt might teach DiNozzo some lessons in self-control and restraint, but it was still a lot of money. And a lot of stress for both of them.

Again Gibbs' strength faltered – it was lucky he was sitting down – and eagle-eyed Tony noticed his eyelids droop and his shoulders slump. Rolling his own shoulders, Tony laughed off the air of seriousness that had settled over them and moved to stand behind Gibbs' chair. "And if I don't want to land my sorry ass so deep in accumulated debt that I have to take up a job as a delivery boy, I better give you hand getting to your room." Gibbs growled in protest futilely as Tony grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, slinging Gibbs' arm across his shoulders, and then Gibbs gave in, taking as much of his own weight as he could.

When they reached Gibbs' bedroom door, the Marine stopped and shifted out of DiNozzo's grasp, although the younger man stayed close enough to catch him if he swayed. "I can take it from here, Tony," he said softly. Obligingly, Tony nodded and stepped back, watching as Gibbs limped to his bed, lying down on it still fully clothed, and carefully kicked off his shoes. When he noticed Tony still standing in the doorway, Gibbs propped himself up by his elbows and raised an eyebrow. "Thanks and goodnight, DiNozzo," he said pointedly, eliciting a small smile from his agent before Tony pulled the door shut and disappeared behind the dark wood.

As Gibbs closed his eyes and allowed the fatigue, which had been building all day, to wash over him, he heard DiNozzo moving around – presumably going to bed himself – and realised how much he enjoyed having another person in the house – this big, empty house.

_Maybe going back to work can wait a few more days..._

Gibbs smiled – maybe letting his leg heal properly, coupled with the company of DiNozzo for a few more days, would do him some good – and then allowed his mind to drift, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with this. I found the ending a bit rushed but under current time constraints this was the best I could do, especially since inspiration for NCIS seems to be dropping in the Hawkeye4077 camp. Reviews are appreciated.  
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**Boat-Building**

**www (dot) selway-fisher (dot) com/Stripplank (dot) htm**

**This site was useful, although Gibbs is actually shaping the planks (steam bending, which I think we see him in the middle of in seasons 1 or 2, maybe even 3), which makes his boats carvel built rather than strip plank built.**

**Thanks must also go to my father for providing an extensive and Ducky-like insight into the world of boat building, including how many coats of varnish are needed, which types of varnish to use and when, types of sandpaper required _and_ a demonstration of epoxy resin mixing.**

**Tony's IOU  
**

**This is how I worked out how much Tony might have to pay back:**

**At the current exchange rate (05/01/10) of US$1 to £0.6199, that would mean US$10000 = £6199.**

**I don't know what bank Tony/Crispian's with so I can't tell you an exact interest rate but looking online I found British banks' rates ranging from 5.5% to 10%.**

**So, taking an average of that is 7.75%. Compounded interest would mean using basic recurrence relations to work out 20 years worth of interest, i.e. 1.0775****^20**

**Therefore = (1.0775^****20)**** x 6199 = £27584.63 (to 2 d.p.)**

**£0.6199 to US$1 gives us 27584.63/0.6199 = $44498.52 (to 2 d.p.)**

**So, theoretically, Tony could owe his cousin $44498.52!**

**And I'm sure inkpen1 will be able to sort through all my **_**math...**_**s to spot any potential mistakes... *prays there aren't any***


End file.
